Author's Note:
Another update! A pretty chill chapter, mostly. Have fun folks.
There's a bit I was thinking of putting a BGM for, but I don't think it works on FFNet, most of the time. I'll just include the title and parts of the link for anyone curious enough.
Review replies:
bukspiks (ch 65's review): Ah, that's why I wrote Hermione with some experience, not fresh-out-of-Hogwarts/ fresh-post-Voldemort. She has a bit more perspective of things and can be less tense. The wizarding world is in a complicated situation, to be sure, but it's not the end of the world, yet, worry not! A lot of effort to go along with knowledge, skills and networking finesse can still make a difference. After all, if nothing else, Hermione has time on her hands.
You're spot-on when it comes to whether Hermione would prioritise herself, Tom, or the mission. She'd still put her mission on top of either of them. And here's the Tom and Hermione interaction that you were looking for when chapters 65-66 came around, heh. Thanks for taking the time to comment! And I was definitely flattered at your excitement at ch 65's update.
(ch 66's review): Yeah, I thought so too. That just doing my best and moving on is better than to get bogged down in perfectionism. Also, ouch, I'm sorry if you've had bad experiences like that, but I suppose that people in emotional distress can lash out to the closest target, or just desperately wish for solution or succor that the people close to them gets hit with unexpected backlash like that.
Guest (who left a review on chapter 65): well, I'm not sure how many 'Guests' are out there, but it's certainly for one of you. Thanks for your belief that I can make it as a professional writer. I'm doing it concurrently, to be honest, trying to write some original fiction as well as keeping this one going, but hearing people's faith in me never gets old. I'm still trying to balance my love of history (and historical details) with a story's pacing.
Imanon (ch 68): I have no idea which Drew Barrymore movie you're talking about, though I don't think I even know that many of her movies in the first place (ahaha). If you were talking about imageries, Tom as the cold-blooded dragon of the sea would fit him better than anything angelic, heh, while Hermione would work with any giant mythological bird like the roc or thunderbird.
Myrtle is basically a loose thread I had planned to pick up earlier but couldn't quite managed to because... Tom-related shenanigans. He'd taken a lot of Hermione's attention and time at the beginning. I've heard requests for Blackbeard earlier, and it's high time that I fulfil them (and in this chapter, particularly). You're welcome! And yeah, the sore throat sucks.
'-
69 A Break on a Beach
Plans. News of a corner of Norway. Blackbeard and Typhon hang out. Beach episode! (Or what passes for one here). In which Tom actually relents to provide fragments of his past. Hermione does realise she's remarkably calm about all this. Pendleton recalls a piece of the past.
'-
"…and so, regarding Kopervik, we're still waiting for further update from Mordred."
Hermione raised her head from her half-distracted scribbling, ignoring several bored or half-asleep faces on Table 2. She had more important things to focus on; Kopervik was her theoretical home town here.
"Excuse me? Kopervik?"
Tom didn't seem the slightest bit fazed, so there had to be an explanation for all this. The sound of wood crackling in the fireplace made the chamber a little cosier than its grand appearance suggested at first.
Melchior merely blinked back at her. "Well, yes, Kopervik. I thought you'd want to know what happened there. It has been brought to my knowledge that—"
"There's been no news," Abraxas cut in. His friend gave him the side-eye but the blond was undeterred. He threw his hands in the air. Ves yelped and pulled his teacup away from Abraxas' grand sweep and gave him the stink eye. The blond was more focused on his other side that he didn't notice.
"Oh, come on, Melchior, we don't need you giving us the summary of who-knows-how-many reports you've read in the same dry language. It was Hermione's home, of course she was devastated at its destruction! You don't need to go through the chaff and go straight to the heart of the news—what do you know?"
Hermione lowered her head for a moment and closed her eyes before meeting Melchior's gaze again. He seemed sheepish, and she thought she could see colour over his cheekbones even on his olive skin. Her own behaviour could've been construed as sadness and guilt, but it was the second that was mostly true—she had no memory of that and she felt guilty that she hadn't tried to figure out sooner.
What if she wasn't the sole survivor of whatever event it was? What if there had been someone else? How bad were their health condition?
She might not know any of them personally, but they deserved a chance to survive too.
The solid pressure and warmth of Tom's hand holding hers pulled her out of her mind. She grasped back like a climber would a lifesaving rope thrown at them from over the clifftop. Even a rope burn would be a welcome sensation right now that could help to ground her.
"Yes, what do you know, Melchior?" she asked.
"That there's been something more than meets the eye. I started looking for news about it once Tom pointed it out to me, but there was practically none, you know? Only a brief summary on the third page of the Daily Prophet, once, and what I suppose was a short obituary on Seeress of London." He sighed, and she could see that it had tired him mentally.
"For an entire wizarding circle, even if it had been small, to only have one known survivor and yet have no news written about it…it's highly unusual. I apologize that our search hadn't gone farther, but we're only now trying alternate channels."
"It's alright…it's not your fault. I wish I could help you, but my memory is shot to hell." Hermione couldn't help the slight laughter that escaped her, nor did she manage to fully suppress the edge of hysteria there. The brunette cleared her throat.
"I have absolutely no memory of whatever happened. I've been waiting all this time; they say that memory loss due to physical trauma to the brain can sometimes recover on their own. Yet it's been a few months. At this rate, let's just say that I'm not optimistic that it would ever recover—this is my healer's opinion on it, by the way."
Her memory of whatever happened before she woke up in 1942 was still non-existent, and so was whatever her memory she should've had in this time period. Nil. Zilch. Nada.
She took a long, long sigh to steady herself.
"I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help."
Melchior vehemently shook his head. "No! It's not your fault at all! Really, don't blame yourself, Hermione. I'll feel really bad that I've caused this otherwise…"
Before she knew it, Tom had moved his chair right next to hers and shifted hers slightly. He'd gently redirected her head to his shoulder, and she took his offer of support to lean her forehead against and close her eyes. She wasn't quite in tears. The Ravenclaw didn't have quite enough memories for that, even if the emptiness in the pit of her stomach was gut wrenching in a different way—yet with no precise words or images, it was not difficult to ignore.
It didn't stop it from being tiring, though.
Tom had continued his inquires at Melchior, instead, smoothly continuing the discussion as he asked for what information they actually have. The basics of it all seemed to be that the settlement, the British wizarding circle at Kopervik, had burned down. Considering how thorough it was, Pendleton had opined that he doubted it was natural fire at all. If all the houses and towers were made of wood and tar with thatched roof while having zero protective charms, then yes, it might have been possible for a freak lightning strike to burn the entire village down.
"That's my current gut instinct about it. Of course, if you wish for a more detailed analysis of it, I'll have to find one of my father's old teammates and get their take on it." She could recognise Pendleton's calm and unperturbed tone easily now.
"See to it, Pendleton. Melchior, pass any documents that Pendleton might need."
Two voices affirmed Tom's order.
Hermione let the conversation wash over her as she pulled herself together. When she sat back up again, eyes dry.
"So, the next phase of information collection would be to wait on Mordred's results?"
Melchior nodded. "Mordred and Emma, yes. Oswin's parents are in positions unrelated to this. He asked me to pass on his apologies."
Tom rattled off several other names, all presumably Slytherin, and Melchior either confirmed that yes, he'd been subtly asking them though he'd been careful so far not to push too far, or he would shake his head and say that the person mentioned was unable to or had hit a wall somehow or was not too close to the subject they were trying to find out about. She would've been impressed with his memory if she was a little less emotionally spent.
The wizard next to her turned to Pendleton after hearing all of Melchior's answers.
"What's your preliminary assessment, Pendleton?"
The pale Slytherin shook his head. "I don't have enough data yet."
"There's no need to be perfect, but even a rough impression can help," Tom replied.
"Considering the degree of destruction on the place, and how there'd been no mention of how many people had been victims, even in passing… It had been an organised attack, and the place may have been a Ministry special projects site."
Gallus frowned, "Special projects?"
Pendleton shrugged in reply. "That's what people in the DMLE referred to certain, low-profile locations for…projects. Yes, that's as much as I know now. Further details about them are not in my purview, as their operation or maintenance aren't exactly the domain of Aurors."
She thought she caught him muttering something about how he wasn't even an Auror yet right now.
A part of her mind stirred at his explanation, though, a hint that she may have known more, once, that the answer was not far from recall. Yet for someone whose past were as particles of sand falling through her fingers, whose recollections were as solid as Swiss cheese, that feeling of familiarity gave her no assurance whatsoever.
'-
The meeting was winding up, Tom had officially closed it and everyone was tidying up their belongings and were either leaving or preparing to leave.
Abraxas' two minions had stood up and helped him with his stuff. The other Slytherins from the second table had mostly stood up and left already; Rowle being the fastest of them all, putting in distance between him and Hermione as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. It might be petty of her, but it amused her enough compared to his previous harassment. She still hadn't tried to stop him from treating her as his own particular demon.
Hermione stood up and approached one of them to speak at one point.
"Pendleton, if I may… A word with you?"
Pale grey eyes met hers when he raised his head, only the slightest hint of surprise flickered past his face. "Certainly, Hermione."
"I had something to talk about the Auror corps, mostly," she clarified.
"Ah, I see. It will only be a few minutes, then."
Melchior was tidying up his scrolls and papers (she'd just realised that he carried a noticeable number of them), sweeping them into a mokeskin bag. That was certainly a lot more convenient than a briefcase. It was really nice to be from a well-off wizarding family, wasn't it? Even Abraxas had a notable amount; there was a time when he led the explanation on the currents and leanings in Wizengamot so far and the results of his discussions with his father about it, with the others occasionally chiming in when they had a perspective he didn't.
She had to admit that he wasn't as foolish as he sometimes seemed. She mused about it while walking back to her table.
This entire gathering was closer to an organisational meeting than she thought it would be. She'd noticed that the dress code for today didn't consists of hooded robes, and a mask was nowhere on that list, so playing up the secret society shtick to the hilt wasn't on the agenda. Yet she'd expected…
What, really? Some sort of nascent Death Eaters? It was clear that they weren't that yet, not with Tom still being sane in general. Perhaps they would never be that with her interference.
I'd expected them to be more Slytherin, somehow… yes, that was it. Perhaps something that echoed her encounter in the forest with Tom, Ves and Pendleton. Tom demonstrating his power with casual cruelty as well as the iron grip that he held the Knights in.
"Hermione?"
The Ravenclaw looked up. She'd been mulling over her thoughts for a while that she'd missed arriving back at her table. Tom had stood up and pulled her chair back before she knew it.
"What are we going to discuss with Pendleton?"
Her mood lightened. "The Society's Search…and our need for a contact person among the Aurors."
"Ah, that."
"Yes, that."
The corners of her lips twitched as she saw the first inkling of annoyance almost forming on his face before it was smoothed out yet again by his control over his expression. In that span of time, she'd glanced to the side towards the approaching footsteps, as Pendleton came to a stop in front of them. His gaze moved between her and Tom.
"What did you need to discuss, Hermione?"
"First, I need to know what your plans are after Hogwarts. Do you intend to be an Auror?"
"I do, I still do."
"Directly, or…?"
"Well, I'd intended to take the Grand Tour first, but I'm not sure how viable that is with a war going on in the continent."
"So, two or three years at the soonest."
He nodded in agreement, and that was when she turned to Tom.
"That's the fastest that you can have someone from your inner circle into the DMLE. The war continues on regardless, and so does Grindelwald's movements." She paused to take a breath. "I don't think we can wait."
Pendleton's forehead creased slightly and she could see that questions were rising in his mind. He had no grasp of the thread of their conversation because he hadn't been too involved with the Society's concerns. She turned to him now to clarify.
"There was some information we needed to know that the DMLE has. We need a contact person for the Society."
"Ah…I see."
Her focus returned to Tom once more. "Alastor Moody is really our best chance for an insider's view if we need the information soon."
Tom exhaled lightly before speaking up again. "What do you know of him, Pendleton?"
"He only came in near the end of my pater's tenure at the DMLE, but he seems competent enough as far as I know. I haven't heard anything too critical of him from my father's old colleagues, though some notes that he can be…brash." Pendleton replied.
Tom didn't immediately reply, perhaps contemplating a few thoughts over before he did so.
"I suppose you can mention the idea to him, Hermione, and see how he'll take it."
"I will," she agreed.
With that, Tom thanked Pendleton for his input, the latter nodded his acceptance before he soon took his leave as well. The last of the Knights was Gallus, who had almost as many papers as the others—she wondered a little about what his responsibilities probably are. After that, there was only the napping presences of both Blackbeard and Typhon near the fireplace.
Hermione was only too pleased by the progress, even if she stayed mostly calm. Perhaps it hadn't been as contained as she thought it was, as soon Tom let out a soft chuckle.
"You must be happy at the prospect of meeting an old friend."
She raised an eyebrow. "An old friend?"
"You wouldn't have been so pleased with the prospect if Moody had been a mere acquaintance."
Perhaps it had been fruitless to even try hiding her reaction in the company of one who would read body language as easily as others would an open book. Still, she'd be more embarrassed about herself if she didn't at least try; she could tell she was getting better. No matter how mediocre her abilities may be, it certainly wasn't going to improve if she just sat on it. Of course, Tom was simply on another scale when it came to that; he was the last person she'd use as a yardstick to measure her progress here.
The Ravenclaw sighed.
"You have a point. When he wasn't crazy with paranoia, he was a competent teacher and a great Auror. I guess I do want to see some familiar faces, even if it doesn't mean anything to the other party and would just seem to be the fruits of my own imagination."
"If he is as competent as you say, it would be a good idea to have a working relationship with him quite early."
Hermione didn't know what it said about her that to see Tom being mostly sane and reasonable could still elicit feelings of pleasant surprise on her part. Perhaps Voldemort simply extended a long shadow from her past experience into the current present. It made watching him cajole his lazy snake to move feel like a rather surreal experience.
(Recommended music to set on loop until scene ends: Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence piano cover by Josh Cohen on YouTube.)
(www youtube com /watch?v=W7WTAP5b9xw - add periods and delete space before /)
"Where are you going now?" She asked.
"Me? You mean both of us," he corrected.
"Us?"
"Well, our familiars hadn't quite had their exercise today, have they?"
Oh, shoot. He's right about that.
Blackbeard was less of a slowpoke from the cold and he ambled back when called. Yet the Ravenclaw was feeling a little sorry of Typhon; he was not a mammal and certainly couldn't quite generate his own body heat. If he was feeling the urge to hibernate, she wasn't surprised. The two of them exited the Room of Requirement along with their two familiars. With a little discussion, they agreed to imagine a place with some basic sort of obstacle course, not unlike the favourite playground of the Prewett twins.
Considering Typhon's lethargy, she suggested to Tom that it would be better if they chose a beach as the location. Tom agreed quite readily, letting her imagine the actual place herself, since she had more memories of tropical beaches from several holidays than he did.
The door opened and a warm air with the scent of the sea greeted them, along with the sound of waves crashing on the beach and not a single seagull to be seen.
He didn't say anything when they stepped in, but the way his eyes widened momentarily, she knew that he'd never been to the tropics.
Once inside, Tom had dropped his coat and outer robe, down to his waistcoat.
"Where should we put these…"
"Anywhere."
To her surprise, he proceeded to dump his excess clothing over the yellow sand.
"You'd get sand everywhere," she stared at his impulsive act.
Hermione didn't think she'd saw Tom grin the way their fellow students do, easily and unweighted. Oh, his satisfied smirk manifested into a predator's grin easily, and his society smile may be broad and charming. Yet neither of them had the vividness of sensation poured directly from the heart. This was…
Tom pulled her closer to give her lips a quick peck, but his actual motivation was clear when he came off with her half-cape. He dropped it straight away on top of his own pile of clothes.
"Tom."
"We have magic, Hermione. What's a little cleaning charm or two?"
Instead of replying, she shucked her boots and socks quickly; he followed in the blink of an eye and rolled his trousers up. They might look a little ridiculous right now, neither of them in a casual enough dress for a beach. Yet who would complain about that? There was no one to watch, and neither Hermione nor Tom cared. Besides, she relished the feeling of soft, warm sand under her feet too much to care.
"Come on, Typhon, up you go."
"SsssSSssSS."
Unlike his earlier, lazier movement, the python acted promptly. His next words were in Parseltongue, and most of their meanings escaped her. Yet she can recognise walk and run in them, and he easily cut across the sand with the snake on his heels.
(She remembered cajoling Harry for a basic primer on Parseltongue, once she'd figured out that it was an actual language, if a simple one, instead of some mystic mumbo-jumbo impenetrable to outsiders.)
There it was, the errant thought passed her mind, that expression of boyish glee she'd not seen before, shoulders no longer projecting solid strength, impressing the capability to carry the world on them. This was Tom Riddle without the gravity that he'd accrued in his Hogwarts persona, of the head prefect candidate of their year and the wizard who was the Heir of Slytherin to those who knew of such things.
This was just Tom.
The brunette been grinning too, before she noticed it, not that she cared to hold it back. She was determined to take her mind off more burdensome things, and focusing on Blackbeard and the present was a good way to do that. The air was warm and humid from the sea spray, while the water was a crystal blue that did not change in intensity towards the horizon, even if the colour deepened. She ran with ease over the sand, feel the water wend its cool fingers around her calves, skimming the coast line without a thought as she made her way inland once more.
Tom had climbed and then walked up the trunk of several heavily tilted coconut trees (usually the result of heavy storm) already while challenging Typhon to catch up with him.
Hermione was more intent on finding large enough mangrove trees that can not only support her weight but can survive being climbed upon by both her and Blackbeard. Her familiar did not immediately follow her when she set off to find a comfortable perch somewhere high up, having too much fun chasing crabs and trying to paw at other skittering beach life for the moment. He followed only sometime later when he was getting bored with them.
The tree swayed slightly as the black cat begun to reach the higher branches, but it was stable enough compared to many other types of trees. Where most trees are mostly supported by its main trunk and the related roots, mangrove trees constantly extend new aerial roots along its branches, clutching firmly into intertidal land over a wider area.
Instead of a single trunk, older mangrove trees have a curtain of trunks.
Hermione thought she could hear the low murmurs that sounded close to complaints from her familiar. She leaned back to locate him.
"Yeah, sorry. I didn't think how large the average mangrove tree is. The next time we come here, I'll try to imagine bigger trees."
"Mreow, mreeooow."
There just weren't enough branches upwards—or if there were, they didn't go high enough, or were not large enough. She could understand the sense of disappointment that had Blackbeard leaping down not long after, and he set off across the sand once more. He'd even entered the surf, perhaps to chase some of the fishes he'd seen there. Hermione followed mainly because she was curious to see what he would do.
The warm water lapped at her ankles and the sand as soft as a mattress under bare feet. She turned right, pulling her gaze away from the blue (fake) horizon in the distance and saw him walking following the coastline towards her. It was a little weird to realise that Typhon was alongside him on the sea's side, swimming. When Tom arrived two steps away from her, he didn't stop Typhon from lazily climbing up his leg and around his shoulders again, trailing sea water everywhere, particularly down his white shirt.
Hermione's lips twitched in amusement even as he rolled his eyes. Tom's left hand directed the python's head to meet his gaze.
"No, down boy. You need to move and it's not even cold here, you have no excuse."
That was probably some hissy complaints following, but the Slytherin lifted the great coils of muscle with what seemed to be effortless ease and dropped his familiar on the sand. Blackbeard padded up on Hermione's right and dropped a fish in the sand before he stared up at her.
"Good boy!" She cooed. She crouched to pet him, scratching him behind his ears the way he liked it and he purred with pride. "You can take the fish for yourself."
"What's the plan now?" Tom asked her idly.
"Oh, walk back towards the treeline, I guess. I'm going to see if I can pick coconuts with the flame whip spell. I was planning on drinking some coconut water and eating the soft white flesh—that is, as long as we can find ones whose ripeness is to the degree."
"That's not a bad idea."
They wandered back side-by-side, with all the carefree air of errant children who had managed to escape from school.
Tom mused out loud where the edible objects come from when the room was simulating a more natural environment instead of a chamber where one can easily request food that can be supplied from the Hogwarts kitchens. Hermione guessed that if the food were too exotic—for example some local, edible type of cactus in the New World—it would just be a magical illusion, or a construct out of air. The Hogwarts larder wouldn't have such an object ready at hand, after all.
"What about the fish or our coconuts, then?" He gestured to Blackbeard who was still happily finishing his fish and towards the line of coconut trees and other kinds.
"Perhaps the fish would turn out to be a different type of ocean fish. Such a thing still exists in Hogwarts' larder and the illusion would merely be in the taste."
"You can't suppose that you can apply the same reasoning to the coconut."
"Not really," she replied, happily diverted with the topic. "Though I'm sure there are a few coconut trees in one of the greenhouses."
"I don't think Spore would put them into the Hogwarts' pantry, though."
"Probably not. We'll just be eating air, then," she concluded without care.
She could see the laughter in his eyes, even if he seemed to manage to restrain himself well enough otherwise. Hermione located the shorter coconut trees, or the ones leaning to an extreme angle to provide her with an easy-to-reach target. She cast flame whip and started cracking it upwards.
Tom tilted his head to the side as he watched her first few attempts; he'd kept a good distance between them since one of her misdirected moves had cracked a coconut in half, its coconut water spilling from above. Then, he wandered off somewhere, possibly to find other random things he found interesting and mostly to get his familiar to walk with him.
The next time Hermione laid her coconut bounty in a row, she felt a light touch falling over her hair. There was a garland of white flowers with golden hearts on her head, their scent intense with notes of sandalwood and myrrh. The name of the tropical flower escaped her, but they were beautiful in their simplicity all the same. She fingered one of the flower's petals, soft as velvet. She thought she could still see the hidden mirth in his eyes.
"I don't know who you're doing this for. There's no one else watching, Tom."
"I simply wanted to." His answer was as effortless as his smile, light as the breeze themselves and yet somehow still true. It made her scrutinise him harder, even if his dark eyes were never completely readable to her.
(King of air and darkness—)
"Nothing projected by this room would last outside it," she told him.
"Well, that's why I took a handful of these flowers, observe their details well, then transfigure a dozen of them from paper in close imitation. These ones would last."
The brunette didn't see that as an answer, not really. Tom's peculiarities could drive her up a wall sometimes, this one among them. There were times when he was intentionally inscrutable, but other times, his mind was just twisted oddly. This current bend was one of the latter. She rubbed her forehead with a sigh. Blackbeard had finished his fish and decided to lie down on the sand to sleep not far to her left. Typhon was still happily sunning himself a few metres from them.
Tom sat down on a fallen trunk of a coconut tree and she sat some distance away on the same trunk.
"What do you think of the meeting?" The Slytherin asked, offhand.
"The meeting?" She eyed him oddly. Hermione had started knocking on the coconuts with her knuckles, listening to the sound they make.
"Yes, the meeting. As it was your first time attending one with the Walpurgis Knights, your viewpoint would be interesting."
"It was…more mundane that I thought it would be. It's not that different from one of the Society's meetings, isn't it? Or a prefect one."
The brunette wasn't sure why he would be asking, or why he seemed mildly amused by her answer. He had more papers in hand, probably provided by the room. He was…folding them into more of the same flowers? Why?
"You found that strange, didn't you?" Tom stated one of her thoughts so easily.
"I…I'm not sure. Maybe."
She kicked away one coconut that sounded too hollow. Its coconut water would've run low. (She remembered being told that it would be a great source for coconut milk now, as its flesh would've matured, but that's not what she needed).
"Why? What did you expect?"
The Ravenclaw had expected cloak and dagger meetings, perhaps; the lighting choices of a broke community theatre or edgy vampire groupies. A secret society with their own password or catch-phrases and enough robes to outfit a Gregorian chorus. There might also be the promiscuous and often frankly unnecessary use of blood magic or oaths. He was still waiting for her answer and she chose the least insulting one she thought could mention.
"Well, I'd have expected that there'd be more torture and screaming."
He snorted and amusement played in the corners of his mouth. "That would only make sense if someone had been making a huge mess of their tasks or responsibilities."
She finally picked two coconuts, all based on her amateurish experience in choosing them on a holiday or two that she can remember. She'd cut the top of, removing them almost like lids, before she realised that they had no spoon to scoop out the flesh with. That was when Tom summoned his tie-pin while recommending her to do the same for the brooch that she pinned on her cape. With metal trinkets as a basis, a little transfiguration provided them with an eating utensil easily (and a finite would easily fix them afterwards).
"You have something on your mind." Tom stated. She snorted at that.
"When do I not?"
"Well, I thought we were going to be honest with each other," he raised an eyebrow at her, and she had to admit that he was right.
"I can't say that I agree with torture in general, but…"
"But?"
"I wouldn't interfere in the moment if you were doing that to your Knights. I wouldn't help anything if I undermine your authority in front of your men. I disagree, of course, but saying that in the moment doesn't help anyone. Hammering our disagreement outside, behind the curtains from them, would've worked better."
She raised the coconut to drink a bit of the water. She was not foolish enough to not realise that in such a situation, Tom's followers would certainly agree with his decision and back him up rather than her—it didn't matter even if she was trying to save one of them from him. Hermione saw the surprised look on his face as his spoon stopped mid-air for a second before he controlled it away.
The brunette huffed. "Oh, come on, Tom. I'm not stupid. I know how your Knights work. They may not start out that way, but right now, they're yours, aren't they? Every single bloody one of them. Yours, body and soul. I'm the outsider in the equation."
Hermione would like to think that she's quite decently read on cult psychology—and the Knights were a cult of personality even if not a religious one. The linchpin of everything was the cult leader, not the members. Right now, she was neither.
"You're not an outsider," he corrected.
"I'm not?" It was her turn to be amused.
"No, you're mine and still above them—and they all know that now."
Something about his voice made her shiver. His tone was casual, but perhaps it was the certainty in them that was uncanny. She didn't exactly have a lot of opportunity to witness religious fervour—his faith in himself was as strong as a saint was to their god.
"I'm only yours if you're completely mine," she threw back, if only to stop herself from being unsettled. It was not a completely satisfactory answer for herself; it was too reactionary.
"Of course."
His expression was bored, though, as if she was merely saying the obvious. She hadn't managed to think of anything else to say when Tom spoke up.
"Do you know when I truly noticed Abraxas' presence?"
"When?"
"During our second year, it was in Potions class. I felt that there was something damp in my bag, and I was worried that an ink bottle wasn't tightly secured inside. I opened my bag and in my utmost idiocy, simply jammed my hand in and started groping around. Something collapsed in my hands, and I didn't pay attention to the little stabs of pain I felt as I was more concerned about getting it—and the spill—out and saving my books and scrolls."
Tom had placed his spoon in his coconut and was miming the gesture of someone searching into their bag and pulling something out.
"What did you find?" She asked.
"What I pulled out was an ink bottle—cracked open like an egg. My hand was wet with blood and ink, shards of glass embedded in my palm. For some reason, Abraxas turned around not a moment too soon, saw that, and laughed his head off. I remembered that because every single person in the class room turned their head in my direction. He wasn't the only one that ended up laughing then."
Hermione could feel her jaw tightening as she answered. "Ink bottles are thick."
He nodded, agreeing with her easily. "Of course. It doesn't mean it couldn't be tampered with, though. Magic is such a wonderful thing, isn't it? So versatile. It's a good thing as it meant that it hadn't been so difficult to restore the scrolls and save the books, though Madam Meige was rather livid when she saw the mess that was my hand."
"Madam Meige?"
"The Head Nurse before Madam Edelstein."
Tom offered his right palm to her, and she took it with confusion before he leaned forward and pointed at a line in the middle of his palm, just an inch below his fingers.
"That's the largest scar, the rest are there if you look."
It wasn't quite what most muggles would call a scar—it wasn't even raised, for one, the texture barely any different from the surrounding skin. The lighter colouring was nonetheless a clue. Once she knew what she was looking for, she started to see other faint lines. There were at least dozens of them, probably twice more if she counted the fainter, barely-there ones too.
They spread across his right palm like fine fractures spiderwebbing on porcelain.
"Gallus was more nonchalant about working with muggleborns. I didn't think after the first few times he'd offered me food. One particular hot cocoa drink was laced might have been light food poisoning, considering how frequent I went to the bathroom. I missed class the entire day."
"He what?"
"He said I owed him a favour for it. He thought that it was better than if my cauldron were to meltdown that day, getting into scuffles in Care of Magical Creatures, fights in corridors and who-knows-what else had been planned."
"Who on earth…"
"He was right, though. A scholarship student cannot afford to attract that degree of scrutiny. Not if they want to stay in Hogwarts. You already know about Ves, so, let's see who's next…"
Tom glided smoothly over to his next explanation.
"Melchior was friendly even at the beginning. He actually enjoys being nice from time to time to other people, and probably random little old ladies he encounters on the street. I talked with him every other day or so from first year. We've partnered together in Potions rather often too."
He'd moved his seat closer, which made sense, because he wouldn't be able to let her observe his palm so easily otherwise.
"There was a time when I had to fight back against three second years in the corridor just outside the Slytherin dungeon. My sides hurt like hell. Melchior was coming from one end and I recognised who he was once he was close. When he realised who it was, well, he bowed his head down again and walked on to the dorms without turning even once."
"He…"
Tom shrugged. "Why would he want to get beaten by a couple of second-years for someone he doesn't know?"
"You're his classmate, his class partner," his friend, she didn't say, because he wouldn't care for it, even if she did.
"And nobody his parents' knew, and it certainly doesn't mean he was willing to be dragged down with me," Tom said, his voice softer simply because their heads were now so close to each other's. The ebb and flow of his words were almost as soothing as the sound of waves breaking on the shore. "The second time he passed, I was making sure a second year was vomiting leeches—rather nasty to get one or more stuck in your throat, I'll say. He walked as if there was no one else in that particular corridor but him."
"The third time he did, I snapped at him to stop pretending that he was blind. Especially since he could've told me where the stupid thugs were going next some of the time—I've seen them talk on occasion."
The air of his exhale caressed her right cheek.
"He said he'd do that if I'd stop being so stupid to wage an open war on two fronts."
"Who was he talking about?"
"It doesn't really matter, does it, Hermione?" To her surprise, he chuckled.
She pressed her cheek to his, her right hand around the back of his neck, because she didn't want him to see the near-murderous expression she couldn't contain. It didn't make sense, she knew, but it didn't mean she could stop the feeling of sympathetic pain. The brunette closed her eyes; she could feel his fingers sliding across her jugular lightly, playing with her curls. The wind sighing through the palm fronds and mangrove trees lent a dreamy air to everything.
"If I kill everyone who had crossed me, I'd be running out of useful minions and even pawns too quickly—it's more fun to occasionally torture them when I have a reason to. Besides, weren't you the one warning me about accidenting too many people?"
Hermione leaned back. Beneath his confident smile and perfectly-polished grace was the roiling shadow she was now observant enough to see. If she could see deep enough, she suspected that she would even see it tied methodically and strung up with his own strings like a marionette. The defining mark of Tom Riddle, she decided, was not that he had a darkness in him—many people can claim that easily. It was not that he had his own spark of genius to go with it, no.
What made him distinct was how he'd bound his violence and cruelty under his iron control, to ensure it served his goals instead of allowing himself be enslaved by his wants and tendencies.
She sighed. "You're right. Less accidents would leave less traces for other people to find.
"Of course I'm right." He said it as if it was obvious.
The time-stuck witch snorted. As if she didn't still need to hold him back several times already. "It doesn't mean your patience is perfect."
"Perfection is impossible, Hermione. I thought you know this."
Hermione rolled her eyes but didn't jab back at his patronising tone. She knew very well by now that he did it only to bait her.
"Still…"
She eyed him wordlessly, and she saw him slowly sitting straighter as he eyed her back.
Still, the balance did not seem to be easily held—even something as temporary as Amortentia could tilt the scales. If one were to upend that control, her conclusion was that it would result in the persona she knew as Voldemort. The current him was…like that particular medicinal-slash-poisonous orchid Neville got from Kalimantan that he'd showed-off once. A rare specimen that she didn't think she'd even encounter, to be honest. She'd thought he'd gone all dark lord already at this point in history and all she'd need to do was a straightforward fight or clean-up of a newly rising evil wizard.
Sometimes she wished it was not so easy for her to empathise with him.
"Tom, be honest with me. Do you actually get enough sleep in the Slytherin dungeons?"
He was blinking in rapid succession in the next few seconds. She was slightly distracted by his eyelashes (it wasn't fair for a guy to have eyelashes that long, really).
"Uh, pardon me?"
She drew back, if only to be able to observe him fully.
"Sleep? If you've never really trusted your Housemates, do you actually manage to have enough sleep in your dorms? I can't imagine that to be comfortable. Do you sleep better when you're in the royal suite? I mean, I don't think I can escape from my dorms every single night without arousing my dormmates curiosity about where I go, but every other night or so is possible and I can keep you company."
He was still staring at her before suddenly dropping his face into his palms, his shoulders subtly shaking. She would've asked if something was wrong if she didn't hear laughter quietly bubbling through him. Tom raised his head again; his smile was now wry.
"You're…not wrong. You're completely not wrong, but that had been years ago, Hermione. I sleep quite well now, thank you, it's just," he chuckled again. "On the other hand, that was a turn of conversation I did not expect."
"Well, sleep is important," she stated primly.
"And you're risking discovery with every night you spend out of the dorms," he pointed out in return.
"It's just sleep. As long as I get enough sleep, I can pay enough attention in class, keep up with my schoolwork and apprenticeship, and manage the Society on top of that. Where I sleep does not really matter much."
Tom's attention was on her once more, undivided. It was unnerving enough that she was getting goosebumps. With the sounds of the ocean rising and falling in the background, the impression that they were the only two people in an isolated island in the Pacific was never stronger.
"…what is it?"
He blinked and his eyes were less the fathomless dark at the bottom of the sea and a more mundane blue before he seemed content to spoon more coconut, the tension between them broken.
"I actually thought you were going to be more concerned about the rules and all."
"If I have to choose between some technical rules and your health, your health obviously comes on top," she said with a huff. The Ravenclaw explained further when she saw that he was unusually quiet.
"I'm a field healer here, give me some credit. I might've been that student who cared about the rules so much, because it's so much easier to understand and remember than the fuzzy…" her hands made vague, wavy shapes in the air, "…constantly changing rules of social interaction. Getting to see my friends being almost dead a few times too many would change a person. You'd get to realise what's truly important in life."
The brunette noticed when he took the coconut from her hands and placed it on the sand between her feet. The fervent kiss came out of nowhere to her. She would've slipped off the log if he hadn't held her waist, touch burning the skin under the fabric. The heat of his kiss lured her in. The thoroughness and immediacy she could almost taste in his tongue, as if he wished to take her into him and hold her inside forever.
"Tom?"
Lips parted reluctantly, and not just on his part. His skin was pale enough that the colour over his cheekbones were obvious—as were the same lovely shade down his neck.
"Whenever I came to think that you were another Hogwarts student, you would do something to remind me that such a narrow definition will never fit you."
She toyed with the buttons of his shirt, not quite picking them open.
"You're right, though. I'm not, even if sometimes I'd like to pretend that's all I am. Life's much simpler when you're just a student." It was an admission that costs her nothing to say.
"And you're mine, aren't you, Hermione? Would you be with me until the end of time?" Well, she cared about him, certainly, and his sheer possessiveness still twinged her annoyance from time to time, but, in a way…
"I don't know how things go beyond death, but I can do that until your death or mine, whichever comes first."
His hand was on her cheek, carefully tilting her face upwards towards his. On his face was a perfectly indistinguishable replica of tenderness.
"Would you?"
"Yes, Tom, unless things beyond my power separates us before that," she wasn't going to discount the low, low probability that she might somehow be thrown back to a future. "As long as we both live, I will do my best to stay by your side."
"Till death do us part."
The finality with which he said that would certainly frighten a younger Hermione, and she wouldn't have begrudged her younger self that emotion either. She wouldn't have begrudged anyone for running for the hills right now. Tom's intensity in all he did and in all he asked of others was frankly too much for most people to handle on a regular basis. Yet she had a gut feeling that she'd saw a world near its end before; he was, under her completely out-of-whacked definition now, quite normal*.
(*for a given value of normal).
Hermione even smiled back at him, even if it was one that was more ironic than smitten though she didn't try to hide the fondness she held either.
"Till death takes one of us."
She did not lie—it was the truth that she had said. The young witch would be with him until his death; either naturally, if he were to keep his reason and level mind to the end, or until she ended him by her own hands if he fell all the same. It would probably rip her heart in two, if it ever came to that years from now, when they had even more years together. Yet now, she didn't doubt that she would do it.
Harry was not the only one who let themselves to be bound by duty.
'-
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'-
Bonus – Memories of Younger Days – Pendleton
Pendleton had a habit of arriving early on the Slytherin table for breakfast to avoid the morning crush. The only reason he would change that is if Tom requested it, so that most of the Knights would be at the table together when he spoke to them of one issue or another.
Today, he was ten minutes later than his usual time, which he excused himself easily as it was Monday.
He was, on the other hand, not surprised to see Tom already there, reading one newspaper from the several he had on the pile to his right hand. Pendleton only blinked before seating himself across them even when he saw Hermione was there. Brown curly hair held loosely with one ribbon of dark grey, a dark purple rose behind her ear.
"Ah, Pendleton! Good morning."
"Good morning," he replied, a little taken aback at her enthusiastic greeting.
"I was waiting for you, actually. Tom was really spot on when he said that you're an early riser."
"Really?"
"Yes. Some things I want to ask about, and—" Hermione stopped, her mind seemingly recalling something as she turned to Tom. "You know, I've just realised that you didn't mention anything about Pendleton."
"I didn't?"
"Yesterday, when we were at the beach?"
When did they even go to the beach? Pendleton wondered but didn't say. Considering their combined skill, he didn't think anyone in Hogwarts would notice if they decided to just decided to visit Sandwich or Dover on a Sunday evening, anyway. He started taking some baked-beans, bacon, and the usual collection of fry-ups, reasoning that he'd take a full fruit platter after this to even it out.
"You didn't seem to have a less-than-pleasant memory about him compared to the others." Hermione clarified.
…Pendleton really didn't want to know what they were talking about, though it sounded as if he came out ahead? Somehow? The Slytherin across from him nodded.
"Ah, second and third years. Well, Pendleton mostly kept to himself, isn't that right?"
"More-or-less," Tom answered easily, "though that also meant he assisted me on class matters less than Melchior."
"I can't argue with that," he replied.
Tom had been that muggleborn who didn't know how to keep his head down (unlike Annabelle). It was the sort of cauldron explosion that would happen when you throw in salamander heart with winter aconite. He certainly didn't want to be on the front rows of that…though it brought him to a pause as he carefully glanced up. Tom doesn't still have issue with that, does he?
"But he's really unremarkable otherwise, Hermione, no offence Pendleton."
"None taken, Tom."
Being described as unremarkable can still cause him to feel dismayed sometimes, even if it had been his own preference to not stand out too much. Yet the only thing replacing the tension in his shoulders was an overwhelming sense of relief. He wanted to be certain, though.
"You…remember when I suggested that you partner with Ves in class, right?"
Tom mulled over it a little. "Yes. So? That doesn't count as an assistance. If anything, that's on Ves."
"True, that." Pendleton slowly nodded, mainly because he didn't want Tom to change his mind. His memories of that time seemed to be better than Tom, though he's certainly not complaining about that flaw of Tom's.
Slughorn was going to make them pair up again tomorrow. Their Head of House had said it in passing last week, but Pendleton had written it down quickly in case he forgot, and now the scribbles he left on his Potions class note stood out as he finished his homework in the common room.
Pendleton sighed, dropping his quill in boredom.
There were good odds that he was going to end up with Ves again—mostly because they've known each other for ages. It wasn't such a bad deal since Ves was pretty good at Potions. The thing was, sometimes he doesn't know when to shut up. He'd complained about getting paired with a slow Gryffindor in Transfigurations, he'd whined about some fourth-years hogging the Mint Tea jug, he went on rants about something in their House…wait, what was it?
Oh, whatever. Pendleton's attention had started to drift at that point and he couldn't care the slightest about whichever Housemate his friend had been complaining about last time. It was a pain and he wanted to work with someone else…
…he spied Melchior rolling up his scrolls from one of the tables in the corner. Ah, there was that noticeable muggleborn he'd been studying with.
Melchior wasn't half bad at Potions. Not as good as Ves, but he didn't care and didn't need him to be. It's kinda unfortunate that he's been partnered up with Riddle for a while…
Hmm. He could do something about this.
'-
"Improve my knowledge of Potions?" Riddle asked back. He might seem calm, but his sceptical gaze came across alright.
"Ves has the highest Potions score last year." Pendleton said.
"Wasn't that Abraxas?"
"Well, the term before that, then. It's usually one of them." he said easily. It's not like he kept track of them that much, he doesn't really care about Potions. "So, what if you partner with him for Potions this time? It would certainly push your grades higher, right?"
He didn't think his observations were wrong. Riddle was someone who was really determined to be on top of all their classes. Riddle proved that he used his sharp brain outside class too by asking his next question.
"What's in it for you?"
"I don't need to deal with Ves anymore. I grow up with him—he just talks on and on and on if you don't stop him, and sometimes even if you stop him. Just want to have the occasional peace."
"Fair enough, but you'd be the one telling him."
"Sure. I'll do that."
He'd do that, right after he partnered up with Melchior.
'-
"You want to pair up with me for Potions?" The Nott heir stared at him askance, probably surprised that Pendleton noticed him, considering that they'd rarely talked.
"Yes." Pendleton nodded.
"I was planning on working with Tom, you know?" That wasn't an outright rejection and Pendleton saw that his chance was still open.
"I told him that he can partner up with Starkey, because I'm the one who usually ends up with him. It would've been good for studying—Ves is one of the people with the highest Potions score."
Melchior shrugged at that explanation. He probably didn't want to be hassled with having to give an explanation to Riddle.
"Well, why not? It's not my loss."
With that settled, all Pendleton had to do was tell Ves. He just had to do it somewhere far from Riddle and without an excess of throwable things. He managed that sometime in Care of Magical Creatures, after which he'd easily dodged his friend's diatribe about the troublesome muggleborn by striding in the direction of Kettleburn. As Ves was too dense to realise the professor was close, he got an earful of lecture in return for judging your Housemates based on their background.
(Not that that was what Ves was complaining about, but the longer Ves argued back, the easier it was for him to slip away).
It was only when they were in Potions class the next time that Melchior actually realised the deal he was offering.
"Wait, you said you suggested to Tom to pair up with Starkey."
"I did."
"Starkey. Starkey yelled at him in first year for using muggle pens!"
"Well, I can see that Riddle's not using muggle pens anymore," Pendleton replied casually.
"That's not what I-dammit." Melchior was rubbing his eyes at this point and exhaling so hard his cheeks were round with air at times. "He's going to notice on of Riddle's notebooks and blow his top, isn't he?"
Pendleton made sure that he didn't glance anywhere in the direction of where Riddle was sitting at, though he'd seen the other boy's notebooks. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"…fine. Fine. This doesn't have to have anything to do with us. We're just going to work on our Potions."
"That's the spirit Melchior."
He ignored the Nott heir's glare with ease, checking up the list of ingredients that they'd have to pick up for their current potion.
Melchior's fears were pretty accurate. Ves and Riddle did seem to be running an argument, even if it was mostly hissed and under their breath, while they were working on their potions well enough to stay underneath the surface of Slughorn's awareness. If Riddle had stomach pains two days after the Potions class, so much that he couldn't go to class at all, well, that was surely coincidence, right? And definitely none of his business either.
'-
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End Notes:
A beach episode pops up out of nowhere! Oh well, at least this was more fun to write, even if my perfectionist side is still unsatisfied with the execution of the idea. It feels like I can make this much better, but let's ignore that for now in favour of just kicking the story forward. The flowers that Tom found on the beach in the frangipani. Considering that Hermione doesn't remember the name even if she remembers the flowers and Tom had certainly never seen them before, it remains unnamed in the chapter. As for Tom's recollections…well, that's Slytherin House friendship for you, especially if you're a muggleborn who not only stands out, but could be pretty stubborn about adapting… '-